


The 1st Not Fight: Pitch, the Rock Star!

by Zinfandel



Series: Waiting For You [7]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alcohol, BlackIce Week, Drunken Shenanigans, Guitars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending some time exploring Pitch's lair after a certain life-threatening incident, Jack finds that he can't help his curiosity about some of Pitch's possessions, and why they are basically hoarded in disrepair all over the caverns. </p>
<p>To get the Nightmare King to loosen up and answer his incessant curiosity, Jack devises a plan to coerce Pitch into divulging his secrets. (which isn't much of a plan at all, really. Come on Jack, you can do better than that!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 1st Not Fight: Pitch, the Rock Star!

**Author's Note:**

> For Blackice Week Prompt: Music!
> 
> I am shamefully self-indulgent and used the prompt to whip out a little oneshot for my horrifically un-updated series Waiting for You.  
> I apologize! But i hope you enjoy this anyways! Most references by Jack to past events are parts of the series that i have not posted yet! D:

So, it had been a few months after that incident and Pitch seemed to be back to his normal hateful self. Well, Jack grinned, more like the most in denial dork of a person he’d ever seen. His usual.

Jack finally felt safe enough to try visiting again between bouts to coax the Nightmare King into conversation that did not involve broken bones or blood. He had calmed down, was bantering in fights again, no longer pulling punches, so things were as routine as they could ever be (as far as befriending the Boogeyman could be called routine).

And, Jack’s curiosity was starting to eat at him. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so determined about it, though. Spending time in Pitch’s lair as he was recovering, exploring and hanging out in the gloom with the Nightmares and Fearlings was as boring as one could imagine. He discovered and learned tons of things about Pitch during that time and kept trying to ask questions about the junk he found littered through the lair, but Pitch was, as always, close-lipped and defensive about his own history and being.

This was why Jack flew to visit, weighed down with one of North’s toy sacks, filled to the brim with the best plan he proudly concocted all on his own.

“Piiiiitch!” He sing-songed as he darted down the hole of the lair, skipping down the corridor to the main cavern.

He was already there, waiting for Jack with hands folded behind his back, a sour look on his face, lips pressed thin. Jack grinned and hopped off the wind, setting the bag gently down in front of him.

“What do you want, now, Jack?” He didn’t seem to be in the mood at all.

“I thought we could do something fun!” He chirped back twirling his staff between both hands as he stepped away from the bag he laid at Pitch’s feet.

Pitch looked down at the red sack and grimaced. “What is this?”

“Go on and open it! It’s a present, pilfered just for you by yours truly!”

Instead, Pitch tapped it with his toe, warily. Glass clinked within and Jack gasped. “Hey careful it’s fragile!”

With an exaggerated eyeroll, Pitch kneeled and untied the strings of the bag, opening it and spreading it away from it’s contents: an entire case of unmarked North’s specialty vodka. Pitch finally smiled a shark-toothed grin and picked up a bottle examining it.

“My, Jack. This will put you on the naughty list this year for sure.”

“More like the next five!” Jack laughed and skipped back to the contraband. “I took some of North’s private stock!”

Pitch laughed too, breaking the wax seal with his fingernail before winding shadows down into the cork to remove it. “Perfect. Here.” He handed the open bottle to Jack, grabbing his own.

Phase one: success. Jack silently drank his own toast.

~~~

He was only half a bottle in and already giggling fit to suffocate. Pitch was dripping the last of his own bottle into his mouth, as he reclined back to try and get every drop.

The pair of them were sprawled in the bowl of Antarctica on Pitch’s globe, not able to make it any farther from where they opened their bottles.

And Jack was finally getting answers. Pitch spoke almost incessantly as he fell more and more into intoxication. He started out by critiquing the vodka, then North, then the Guardians, moving on to the rest of the spirits of the world.

“You’re pretty Okay, though” He drawled for maybe the 30th time. Jack just laughed and wedged his toes up into Pitch’s armpit eliciting a hiss and a flinch.

“‘Ey, those are like ice!” Pitch whined as he threw his empty bottle over the side of the platform, it crashing to pieces against the rocks who knew how many meters down.

“Duh. Look who I am!” Jack replied between more laughing, as he watched Pitch try and take another drink from a bottle he no longer had.

“Wait, Pitch.” Jack stopped him as he tried to get up to get more vodka by handing him his own bottle. Pitch took it without question and flopped back down.

“What.” He took a long swig, sighing. “Gud stuff. North is still a selfish prick…”

“Why do you have so much junk in your lair?” Yes, finally the guy stopped long enough to get the question in.

“S’not junk!” He sloshed the bottle pointing at Jack. “Brat. S’all memories.”

“Memories?”

“Got no baby teeth. Had to make m’own somehow!” He took another drink.

“You collected all this stuff?”

“No one else would, idiot.”

“Even all that trash and soot covered garbage in the corners?” Jack grinned.

Pitch kicked him, nearly knocking him out of the globe. Jack just laughed and used Pitch’s foot to pull himself back up.

“Ok fine, not trash! But it’s all gross and dirty!”

“S’just old. You see my ‘ome. Fearlin’s aren’t very clean…” Pitch yanked his foot back tumbling Jack up alongside him. He handed him the bottle.

Jack took it and drank, then handed it back wanting to not get so entirely sloshed.

“Why d’you care?”

“I spent a week tripping over all of it. Just curious.”

Pitch grinned around the bottle mouth at his lips. “Just curious.” he repeated.

“Uh-huh. Like all the armor and furniture. The instruments? Can you play them?”

“Yeeeeeep!” Pitch laughed as he tilted the bottle at his chin and brought his other arm up miming a violin.

“Seriously? All of them!”

“Mmhmm.” Pitch dropped the mimicry and drank from the bottle once more, this one almost empty now too. “Lotsa time on hand t’learn.”

“Will you play for me? Like all of them! I want to hear all of them! How many can you play at once, what songs do you know? Whats your favorite one?” Jack was sitting up, excited. The answer to this question was better than he thought.

“Noooo! Can play em all, not at once, tho. Lotsa songs. Humans make crappy musiiiic but I know em. What was the question?”

Jack leaned over and took the bottle from Pitch, holding it back, coercing the Boogeyman to sit up and reach for it, confusion furrowing his brow “Hey…”

“You don’t get anymore till you play for me!”

“Fuck off Jack!” He tried to grab for the vodka again, but Jack hopped to his feet and out of the globe.

“Nah-uh! Whats your favorite instrument! I want to hear at least one!”

Pitch tried to lean out of the globe but only found himself almost tumbling out onto the floor having to grip South America to steady himself.

“Fuck. Fine! C’mere ya little shit,” Pitch groaned and flapped his hand towards Jack signalling him to come back.

Grinning like an idiot, Jack floated over only to be immediately grabbed by the wrist and flung into the darkness.

Gasping, Jack nearly buckled under the weight of Pitch suddenly draped over his shoulders somehow shifting his position mid-teleportation to practically lay on top of Jack.

“Moons, Pitch! Give me some warning!” Jack stumbled and heaved Pitch off of himself, watching the guy flop back and catch himself on some crumbling brick wall. Where were they?

Pitch only laughed as he picked himself up and used the wall for support to enter a ridiculously derelict building.

“Where the hell did you take us?” Jack called after him, skipping back into the air to follow while hovering, not particularly trusting the rotting floor.

“Need electricity.” Pitch mumbled as he turned a corner and entered a dingy room lit with one lightbulb, the window boarded up and a disgusting dirty couch along one wall.

“For what?” Jack asked entering the horror film set-like room cautiously.

“For…” Pitch spun on his heel and wobbled dangerously before gathering darkness in his hands. “My axe.”

And Jack fell right out of the air choking on laughter, for Pitch summoned and old beat up electric guitar right onto his person.

He barely even noticed as an amp clattered out of the shadows thunking to the floor, cables falling after. Jack was in tears wiping at his eyes as Pitch plugged the amp into an outlet along the wall and then into his guitar.

“You can’t be serious!” Jack was wheezing.

And Pitch wasn’t smiling. He was dead serious. His voice flat, “completely.”

“Oh my god.”

A feral smirk upturned the Nightmare King’s lips. “You are the one who asked. And I am drunk.”

“You are wasted!”

Pitch laughed through his nose as he looked down at the instrument slung over his shoulder. He plucked at the strings for a minute, then fiddled with the knobs on the guitar and the amp expertly finding the equilibrium and volume he wanted.

Jack quieted and drifted over to the couch flopping down on it while gesturing to Pitch. “Show me your skills!” He called, pulling Pitch back from his concentration.

“Do you play any instruments?” Pitch asked.

“A few. Things I could find in the trash. I have a pretty awesome ukulele.”

“Ready for this?” Pitch exuded confidence as he stood up straight, righting the wobble in his stance with pure determination.

“Oh yeah. Serenade me, Nightmare King.”

With maybe the sharpest most deadly grin Jack had ever seen, Pitch adjusted his fingers on the strings slowly looking over them once again.

Then, without any other warning, he violently scratched his nails over every string. Sound screeched from the amp, ungodly shrieking of eardrum ripping, high frequency thrumming feedback flooding the room.

Jack leapt to his feet hands slamming over his ears and shouting, surprised and nearly winded from the jolting fear washing through him from the most unexpected atrocity he had ever heard.

“FUCK! PITCH! WHAT THE FUCK!”

Pitch was cackling mad, nearly doubled over with uncontrolled laughter.

Jack was still shouting terrible curses even Bunnymund would wash his mouth out for before he stomped over and yanked the power cord from the wall.

“Jesus fuck, Pitch! What the hell was that for?!” But Pitch couldn’t catch his breath he was laughing so hard.

“That wasn’t even music! You said you could play!”

“Music to MY ears, Jack! You were so scared! Oh moons!” He was crying and gasping for breath as he finally stood, wiping at his eyes.

Finally getting his heart rate back under control, Jack kicked at the amp and folded his arms across his chest, frowning.

“You wanted my favorite instrument. These things are so GOOD at scaring people. Absolutely wonderful.” Pitch sighed as he stroked down the strings of his guitar affectionately. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jack said, dropping his arms and smiling again. “Of course this would be the reason why.”

“Oh shut up.” Pitch said as he went back over and plugged his amp in again, fiddling with the knobs once more.

“No way Pitch, I’m not listening to you wring cats and scratch chalkboards all night.”

“Shut up, Frost.” Pitch retorted as he pulled the amp over to the couch. With a wave of his hand the case of vodka tumbled out of the darkness and Pitch flopped down on the couch pulling out their third bottle. He opened it one handed with his shadows again and took a long drink before holding it up to Jack.

Grinning and giving in, Jack came back over to the beat-up couch and sat down again. Pitch promptly sprawled across Jack’s lap picking quietly at the guitar as he adjusted to get comfortable.

Jack chuckled as he sipped at the vodka watching Pitch adjust the amp volume lower with his shadows as his fingers began to pick some improvised song.

Stealing North’s vodka really was his best idea yet.

 

 


End file.
